


A Hard Ground

by Cthultystka



Series: The Resurfacing [3]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Consequences, Gen, Hurt Loki (Marvel), No Sex, Not Thor friendly, Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Psychological Trauma, Sexual Slavery, Slave Loki (Marvel), Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 15:44:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16663645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cthultystka/pseuds/Cthultystka
Summary: Finally, they reach Midgard, but it's no more welcoming than the Avengers ship...





	A Hard Ground

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back!
> 
> Sorry for the long break. I was busy with other projects and kind of lost interest in writing this series. Most of this chapter was actually sitting on my hard drive for months, waiting for me to finish and finally I did it. Although, it was a bit hard for me to capture The Feel again and I'm not sure if I succeeded.
> 
> Also, I installed Grammarly on my Firefox and went through previous installments. Now I'm really embarrassed for all the mistakes I made (especially since most of them were stupid typos). Anyway, this chapter should be better. If you spot something though, please let me know.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Thor embraces him, making his skin crawl – but slave learned long ago to hid such reactions, it wasn't his right to reject other's touch – and pushes him towards the exit.

“Good to see you back.”

Slave hears known, but unidentified voice coming from the outside and freezes.

_Rush. Impact. Pain._

Thor nudges him gently out of the ship and slave looks around apprehensively, careful not to lift his head too much. Their ship landed on a small, round plaza, surrounded from all sides by tall buildings. A private landing, probably. Only one unassuming man comes out to greet them and although he seems meek and feeble, his presence causes the slave to feel unexpected dread. For some reason he thinks – he knows – that there's more to the man than meets the eye. He catches the man's eyes and quickly drops his head.

“What is he doing here?”

This voice again. But there's another. Another voice. It's nothing like this one and yet somehow exactly like it. Slave doesn't know what that means.

_Puny god._

“He was Grandmaster's slave,” speaks Captain.

“Yeah? You should have left him there.”

In front of them, someone – Stark – snorts.

“Well, it's been lovely to see you, Bruce. And thank you, guys, for the fantastic adventure. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go say hi to my wife.”

“I think she's busy on that Stark Expo...”

The sound of take-off is the only answer.

“I need to water my flowers,” mumbles Wanda and walks off before anyone can stop her. One by one the Avengers disperse, until finally only Thor, Captain, Vision and Widow are left.

“Well... I'm still waiting for an answer,” repeats man. Bruce. Bruce...

… Banner?

“He was... abused in a most horrible way,” answers Captain. “We feared for his life if he stayed there.”

“Was he a gladiator?”

“No, he was...” A pause, like the man isn't sure what to say. No one else speaks though, so the Captain clears his throat before mumbling uneasily: “A consort.”

“Oh.” Another pause. The slave can feel the man's gaze on him, so he does everything he can to shrink and seem as unassuming as possible. He doesn't want... Doesn't want to make this man angry. “Couldn't you dump him somewhere on your way here?”

“He's traumatized and not capable of living on his own,” insists Cap. “Look, we can explain everything, but not here...”

“Right!” Thor stops him, as if suddenly remembering something. He's loud and a bit too merry, which comes out a bit forced. Slave thinks that everyone must be looking at Thor now – and at him by extension – which makes him hunch even more. “Forgive me, friends, but I promised my brother a good meal when we land and I'm gonna keep my word.”

How unusual, slave thinks before mentally slapping himself. He shouldn't have such rebellious thoughts... Although now no one is there to hear them, so maybe...

Thor wraps his arm tightly around the slave and pushes him down the ramp and towards the city. When his bare feet touch the ground he stumbles: it's hot and rough and he's used only to the softest carpets and silks. But Thor doesn't seem to notice, he just pushes harder and after a while, the pain subsides.

Shoes, he thinks. He needs shoes. Or better yet, solid boots with a pair of greaves.

Wait, where did that idea come from?

“We'll need to get you a proper garment.” He hears Thor musing. “But first, the meal. What would you like to eat?”

The question catches him off-guard. The slave shifts uncomfortably.

“I'll eat what is given,” he says cautiously.

“No, I asked, what would you like? Do you have any preferences?”

His master's warm fingers sliding a piece of fruit into his mouth.

“Can I... Can I have a saaka fruit?”

“Saaka?” Thor sounds surprised and slave dares to lift his head and peek at the man's face, now wearing a peculiar frown. Slave wonders what he did wrong. “I don't think it grows in here. Is there anything special about this fruit? Maybe we can find something similar...”

Slave hesitates.

“Master said it makes me taste good.”

The frown on Thor's face gives way to shock, then embarrassment and slave cowers.

“Well, no one's gonna eat you here...” Thor murmurs lamely and slave frowns.

“He wasn't eating me, he was...”

“I know what he was doing. It was a joke. You know what, never mind. How about some shawarma? Did you, did you ever had shawarma?” Slave shakes his head. “You wanna try now?”

He has no idea what shawarma is. Not that it matters.

“I can have shawarma,” he agrees. Thor's face brightens with a smile.

By now they are within the city. The air is filled with strange smells and noises and slave can't help but lift his head to look around. They are walking down the long, roofless corridor with windows on both sides. Some are partially eclipsed by curtains or peculiar signs and symbols he doesn't recognize, almost all contain some kind of goods, likely put on display. There are also other signs, hanging above the doors or even higher still, unconnected to anything. The whole place is pretty crowded, not like one of Grandmaster's parties, but enough to force them to slow down or step aside every once in a while. And people stare at them – slave tries not to look anyone in the eyes, but many are looking at him with curiosity, some greet Thor or other Avengers as they walk by.

The whole experience is strange and alien and soon enough slave feels hid head spinning. He stumbles a few times, but luckily soon enough Thor chooses one of the locations and takes slave inside.

From the entrance, he feels almost assaulted by a strange, intense smell. The place is small and uncomfortably hot, filled with round tables and chairs. It seems gloomy, but maybe it's because of the stark contrast with the outside.

“It's not as good as in New York,” warns Banner.

“No, but it's here,” replies Thor. “So, how would you like it, Loki? Chicken or lamb? Hot, mild? With fries or salad?”

Slave looks around. There are big boards with all the options written down. He can't read the symbols but he recognizes the images. There's much more than Thor brings on and slave feels overwhelmed.

“I don't know,” he stammers, shifting uncomfortably, feeling tears prickling in his eyes. “Any...”

“What's the matter?” asks Banner.

“I just... Don't like... choices.”

“Why not?”

He exhales painfully.

“They only lead to pain.”

“Only when they're poor choices.”

“And how to know if they're poor?”

“Sometimes there's no good or bad choice,” slips Captain. “Come on, Loki. You're a grown man, you should be able to pick your own food.”

“I'm not a man,” he protests. “I'm just a slave.”

“You're not a slave,” says Thor. “We freed you, remember?”

Slave huffs, feeling sob gathering in his chest.

“Anyway, you should be able to pick what you want to eat. The worst thing that can happen is that you won't like it.”

He liked everything his master gave him.

“J-just any.” He chokes. He can't do it. He can't.

“Okay, okay.” Thor grabs his arm and leads him to a table. “I'll get you mild one with chicken. Is that all right? With a salad?”

He nods. It sounds good. Anything sounds good as long as he doesn't have to choose it.

Thor leaves him by the table and slave tries to kneel but Thunderer yanks him up and throws him on a chair then leaves to speak with a man separated from them by a long table. The others take places around him and he feels uncomfortable again. He lowers his gaze and stares at the table.

“Okay, that... was creepy,” starts Banner. “What the hell happened? Is that some sort of Loki-shaped android? Because if so, it has the worst programming I've ever seen.”

“I'm afraid that's real Loki,” speaks Captain. “He was Grandmaster's slave since Thor left him on Sakaar. They messed him up pretty badly.”

“How badly?”

“Well, Clint once compared him to a child,” slipped Vision. “That's also sex-crazed and can kill you.”

“He won't kill you,” opposed the Widow. “He won't touch you, speak to you or even look at you. Unless you command him.”

“Here.” Something slides in his field of vision. It's big, some mix of meat and unknown vegetables, wrapped in bread. It looks more appetizing than the sludge he ate on the ship, but it's still vastly different to the small morsels Grandmaster fed him. He hesitates for a moment, not sure what to do with it. “You grab this way.” Thor takes his hands and guides them onto a dish. “And bite. You know how to bite, right?”

The slave does as he's told. The sauce squirts, covering his face and fingers. He doesn't wipe it. The taste is alien but not entirely disagreeable.

“Do you like it?” Thor's arm slides in his vision with a napkin and wipes his face.

Slave nods, but after a while, he speaks:

“Thank you.”

“Did I hear that correctly?” Thunderer asks and slave wonders if he's addressing him. “Did you command my brother?”

“Don't be mad, Thor,” answers the Widow. “We had to make sure.”

“It was my idea,” adds Captain.

“I thought that's what you send Wanda for. Didn't she say...?”

“She said she was too scared to continue. And I was worried that our conversation back then might have sparked something in Loki. He was different then.”

“You would be different too if you've been through what he's been through!”

“He doesn't seem bothered by what happened, more by the fact that it's over,” adds Widow.

“And do you think it's a good idea to talk about him like that when he's sitting right next to us?” asks Banner.

“He doesn't mind,” says Widow. “Do you, Loki?”

They pause, like they're waiting for something. Finally, Thor nudges slave.

“Loki,” he whispers with a slight reproach.

Oh. Right.

The slave swallows and clears his throat.

“No, I don't mind.”

“You need to learn to react to your name, brother. You remember your name, right?”

“I have no...” he stops when he figures out what the other wants. “Loki.”

“And?”

“Of Asgard.”

“And?”

“Son of Odin.”

“Very good.”

He feels the heavy hand of Thor patting his shoulder. It's nothing like the soft patting of his master and it makes him only ache for home.

At least then Thor leaves him alone and he can hide behind his meal again. But soon the door to the eatery opens loudly. Slave lifts his head slightly to glimpse a small, muscular woman stepping in energetically.

“My king,” she says jovially, without even a hint of the respect a title like that should bring. Her voice sounds familiar, but once again, the slave can't quite place it, knowing only that it came from Before. “They told me you're back.”

“Brunnhilde,” Thor answers and waves his hand invitingly, incidentally elbowing slave in the process.

On the other side of the table, metal legs drag against the floor with a loud screech as someone draws the chair to sit on it.

“Well, look who's back,” the woman says and slave feels that she's looking at him. He draws his arms closer. “Uh-uh, what's wrong with him? Was he Grandmaster's plaything the whole time?”

“How do you know?” asks Banner.

“I know that look. He was lucky though; most of them ended up on the arena much sooner...”

“He turned his... playthings into gladiators?”

“No...”

Before she can say anything else Thor speaks hastily:

“It was... different kind of arena.”

“No less deadly though,” remarks woman.

“Have you ever been there?” comes from the captain, filled with a mix of disgust and disbelief.

“Nah, not my choice of entertainment. All of that spikes and thorns...”

“Was...” comes from Banner, but his voice is different now, smaller, trembling. “Was Hulk ever on that... other arena?”

“Couple of times...”

She doesn't finish as the man stands up abruptly and runs to the wall.

“Bruce, it's not your fault,” says Widow, following him.

“No,” the man rasps. “But the truth remains... We killed people. In fight and... otherwise.” He chuckles mirthlessly. “Probably more than Loki ever did. Definitely in worse ways. What right do I have to judge him?”

“It wasn't you,” insists Widow.

“To be fair, I don't see how that way was worse than gladiator fight,” adds the new woman – Brunnhilde. “They're dead, anyway...”

“And you sold them knowing the fate they'll meet?” asks Captain with clear disapproval.

“Don't cry, Steve, I'm pretty sure I've caused more death while fighting glorious battles for the Great Allfather.”

“Can we not drag my father into it?”

“I was in the arena,” slave speaks, unexpectedly even for himself. “Master was very proud of me.”

Everyone pauses and slave feels their eyes on him. After a while though, the new woman – Brunnhilde, as Thor called her – chuckles.

“I bet he was. Must have been very impressed that you survived.”

A frown forms on his face. What is that supposed to mean? 

“Surely he didn't expect me to die.”

“Everyone else did.”

“He cared for me.”

“He said that to every new toy. For a few months. Then he would get bored and send them to the arena. Like you.”

“But he took me back.”

“Yeah, as I said. Must've been impressed.”

“He would never hurt me.”

She seers.

“Save for that whole making you a sex slave thing?” She turns to Thor. “He got pretty bad, huh?”

“He's been there for years,” said Captain gently.

Slave feels the hot tears pooling in his eyes. No. It's not true. He can't believe it, he can't...

“It's all right.” He feels the warm, steady hand of Captain on his shoulder. “I don't think that was the right way of telling you, but perhaps now you will understand that this man was only using you...”

“I was happy with him,” slave says, voice raspy. “Only since you kidnapped me I've known nothing but misery...”

“Oh, for Norns' sake!” Thor shouts, standing up. “We rescued you, not kidnapped you! A bit of gratitude wouldn't hurt!”

_Now, why are you crying? I hope these are tears of gratitude. You know, there are far worse fates for someone like you. Far worse. But, if you're unhappy with your current status, we can, of course, arrange something different, something, perhaps, more to your liking._

Before anyone can stop him, slave falls to his knees, drops his head and presses his lips to Thor's boot.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers between the kisses. “I am grateful. Very grateful. You don't have to... don't have to make me.”

“Oh, Loki.”

With his rage instantly melted, Thor pulls slave to his feet and presses him to his chest.

“It's all right. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...”

Slave feels his lips on his temple. Well. That was easy. He should remember that. For now, he cautiously lifts his head to look at Thor.

“You're not going to punish me?” he asks meekly.

“No, of course not. No one's gonna punish you, I promise...”

Guided by the impulse he doesn't understand he wraps his hands around Thor's waist.

“I can be a good slave,” he whispers. “I'll do what you want. Just tell me...”

“I don't want you to be slave. I want you to be my brother. You used to want to rule people, what happened to that?”

He frowns. Did he really want that? It's so hard to believe it now.

“I thought you'd be happy. I know my place now.”

“You place it at my side, not on anyone's leash.”

Is that so? In his mind, he can hear the words...

_Know your place._

But they're spoken with contempt and slave recalls the feeling of rejection, again and again. Is that how you treat someone you care for?

He doesn't know.

“There is one thing I will ask you to do.” Thor pushes him away gently and looks him in the eyes. Slave immediately drops his head. “Is that you never speak of your master, slavery or any services. Especially arena. With anyone.”

Slave swallows heavily, but tries to hold back tears. It's not that bad. He can still remember his Master, his gentleness, his kindness. Nothing they say will take it away from him.

“Can you do that for me?” asks Thor. Slave nods.

“Yes, brother.”

Thor sighs and pushes him gently back to the chair. Slave sits obediently.

“Is it just me or does he think you're his new master?” asks Banner.

“Okay, we need to figure out what to do with him,” says Captain before Thor can answer. “I think it will be better to shield him from the public for now. I know that you want to put him at your side, give him an office and parade him around, Thor. But he's not ready for that.”

“Trust me, I wouldn't want anyone to see him like this.”

“Then why are you smirking?”

“You just reminded me of the time when he was born. Well, brought. I was so happy to have a brother that I insisted on taking him and parading him around.”

“Oh.”

“Then I dropped him down the stairs. Accidentally!” he shouts apologetically, lifting his hands in surrender.

“Was he all right?”

“Of course he was! He doesn't even remember that.”

The slave does remember that. He also remembers that the great stairs in Asgard always made him uneasy.

“Anyway, United Nations will probably want to have a word with him,” starts Banner.

“They can't have it,” protests Thor.

“He's not capable of answering for his deeds,” agrees Captain.

“They will want to do it anyway. And you can't keep him hidden forever.”

“I will try to explain that in my report,” says Captain. “Tell them about his mental state. Maybe we can arrange for a proper psychological evaluation...”

“Maybe they'll agree to house arrest,” suggests Widow.

“We can do house arrest,” agrees Thor.

“And you will have to arrange for a proper care for him. Someone will be needed to help him with everyday stuff, like eating and dressing. Not even mentioning psychotherapy...”

“Maybe it's not just psychological,” suggests Bruce. “With such dramatic personality changes... We should consider a possibility of physical brain damage as well.”

“Surely we can arrange everything later,” decides Thor. “For now, if you don't mind, we should return to our homes and write those reports. Natasha, can I trust that you'll also advocate for my brother?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Loki, are you finished with your meal?”

The slave nods and withdraws his hands from the plate. There's plenty of food left on it, but his appetite is gone.

“All right, let's go.”

Thor wraps his hand around slave's arm and guides him back outside. This time the walk is even longer, but it's less strenuous, maybe because the slave is getting used to being outside. Finally, they reach a large building – so big, that even by lifting his head as high as he can, the slave cannot see the whole thing. Thor guides him inside, where they're immediately surrounded by people bringing their cases to their king. Thor waves all of them away, shouting few orders and pulling slave further inside. They traverse a series of progressively smaller corridors, until they reach a large room with white walls, glass ceiling and air filled with familiar scent. Healing room.

“Eir,” the Thunderer calls and soon a small, elderly woman appears. “I want you to examine my brother. Tell me everything you can about his general health.”

He hands slave to the woman, who guides him to a large bed. He lays down obediently, using his position to have a better look at the woman. He knows her: she was good for him when no one else was. A healer. Even now she looks at him with concern she doesn't bother hiding and when she commands him, her voice is soft and soothing. Thor, meanwhile, stays in the doorway, where he is shortly joined by an elder man with dark skin and long, gray braids. For some reason slave isn't able to explain, the newcomer fills him with hatred he hasn't felt in a long time.

“My king,” the man speaks, but his yellow eyes are glued to the slave. Thor turns to him, as if trying to block his voice from reaching his brother.

“You knew,” he says menacingly and the man finally looks at him, but doesn't reply. The king turns his head away, lips pursed in anger. “You never thought about telling me?”

“Billions suffer every day. I cannot give my attention to every one of them.”

“He is not one of them, he is my brother!”

“Is he?” The king looks taken aback and the man continues: “You knew what place are you leaving him in. And you never asked about him or his wellbeing. I figured you weren't interested.”

For a moment there Thor's face twists in anguish and guilt, but then he's approached by the healer woman. He dismisses the other man with one wave of a hand and he disappears without a word.

“How is he?” asks the king.

“He's slightly malnourished and his muscles atrophied. He also spots some bruising around his... private areas.”

“What about his insides?”

“There's a mixture of unidentified chemicals in his bloodstream, but they don't seem to do much harm. Drugs, probably. And his liver seems pretty worn, but it will heal.”

“And his brain?”

“It's completely normal, my king.”

Hope drains from Thor's face and for a moment he looks defeated.

“Thank you, Eir,” he murmurs then comes back to slave and guides him out again.

“I had servants prepare a guest room for you. It's not what you're used to, we still live on mortals' aid. But it's home.”

They reach the elevator and ride in silence before emerging in another low corridor.

“Sadly, I won't be able to accompany you for long today, I have state matters to attend to.”

He opens first door on the left and guides the slave inside. The room is small and plain, furnished only with table, couch, half-empty bookshelf and large, black screen. Further door leads to a small office, bedroom and bathroom. All look pretty much the same: walls painted with dull colors, wooden floors covered with rugs, furniture of dark wood and leather, sparse details of gold. After a quick tour, Thor guides slave onto the couch – preventing him from kneeling again – and takes a small black box with rows of colorful buttons. He presses one and the black screen lights up and fills with moving pictures. The slave moves closer to take a better look.

“Do you like it?”

He turns around to see Thor smiling. The man presses another button and pictures change. Then he does that couple of more times, pausing for a moment then switching again. There's a great variety of pictures: a stern lady in uniform talking to them with somber voice, mustachioed man pointing at a large map, men running on a great, green field, a great variety of people talking to each other in rooms not much different to this, as if not aware of the others watching them. Finally Thor stops when the image of two people in opulent dresses appeared.

“Historic movie,” remarks Thor. “You liked that epoch of Midgard's history, remember? You snuck out of Asgard every couple of weeks to come and visit.”

The slave doesn't remember. For a moment they watch the pair in silence, but then the two embrace each other and Thor quickly switches the device.

“Maybe not,” he murmurs.

He browses a couple more pictures until the whole screen fills with almost uniform green.

“More than half of the world's species of plants and animals are found in the rainforest,” comes from the screen and the greenery gets broken by an image of a small, furry creature with long limbs and tail. Slave moves even closer, almost falling off the couch. He's never seen anything like that... Although the green – plants, he realizes – awake some strange ache in his chest.

“Do you like that?” Thor asks curiously, but the slave only manages a small grunt, completely transfixed by what's happening on screen. The creature is joined by others of its kind and they go on to perform the most ridiculous antics. Soon though the vision jumps to a different creature and even without the slow, soothing voice of the commentator the slave knows that it's a predator.

“Okay, I'll leave you here.” Thor put the box on a table. “You can change the channel if you want. Just press this button. Here you can turn the volume up and here – down. I'll send someone with a supper later.”

He pats slave on the shoulder and stands up to leave. Slave barely even notices.


End file.
